


can i be close to you?

by shut_up_melchior



Category: Frühlings Erwachen | Spring Awakening - Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Childhood Friends, F/M, Kissing, Pining, Song fic, implied former abuse, it’s just soft mmm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shut_up_melchior/pseuds/shut_up_melchior
Summary: “I’ve dreamed of holding you like this,” he croons. “Of maybe dreaming next to you.”“The night is young, Moritz. I don’t need anything more than spending the night, god help me, maybe even the rest of Autumn, with you.”The rain is a hardly a sprinkle. Martha closes her eyes, not afraid of the dark, breathing in him and the fall air.————Martha and Moritz have grown past laying in the fields under the stars. At least, they thought they did.





	can i be close to you?

**Author's Note:**

> TW: mentions of parental abuse  
> The Song this is based on is Bloom by the Paper Kites

_**In the morning when I wake** _

_**And the sun is coming through,** _

_**Oh, you fill my lungs with sweetness,** _

_**And you fill my head with you** _

It’s a mid august night, and she’s awake from thinking of him. Martha squirms on her bed.

The silk nightgown her father forced upon her feels strange on her skin...Rather feels strange on her mind too. _Should I be thankful that my father bought me a new, silk nightgown?_ The thought crosses Martha’s mind, making her stomach knot.

She reckons that she should be thankful if her father bought it for her. But he wanted it for him. He wanted to feel silk against his fingertips when he touched her before she went to bed. Everything is about him, Martha can’t ever forget that.

But she entertains the idea to herself; what if the nightgown wasn’t just for her father? Martha runs her hand down the soft, smooth material, her fingers fiddling under the hem at her mid thigh. It’s a pleasant feeling, like touching an angel’s skin. She imagines someone besides her father touching her nightgown. Intimacy that doesn’t feel like a cage.

She immediately thinks of Anna. Anna was always braiding flower crowns, sewing dresses, her hands would be careful and soft.

Thea comes next. “Martha, my mama would never…” or “I bet you wish Moritz Stupid was doing this,” She would say, her voice disguising the curiosity with stern disgust. She wouldn’t stop though, that’s what Martha knows for sure.

Her mind settles on Moritz. She closes her eyes, smiling. His hands would be clumsy, yet stiff from frantically writing all the time. He would crane his head closer, his wild hair briskly touching her skin. Maybe she’d giggle at that. “Is-Is this okay?” He would whisper before doing anything, and she would nod fervently.

Guilt fills her stomach, a feeling that has become constant nowadays. A girl shouldn’t think like that, or that’s what her teachers tell her. The guilt is not strong enough to counterbalance the unnamable sensation that burrows deep inside her when she thinks of him.

She closes her eyes to imagine the way he looks, how he laughs, how he stutters when he speaks to everyone besides maybe Melchior Gabor. But it was naive to even consider a boy so gentle, so sweet to even consider a girl like Martha worthy of love or affection.

She lived for fifteen years not being worthy enough for love from her parents, why would Moritz be any different?

Snap!

Martha eyes open quickly, the loud sound coming from outside. She watches the window, her hand hovering over a book ready to throw it. Moonlight silhouettes a figure behind the window, hands pulling the window up noiselessly. The figure pulls it as high as it can and they’re skinny enough that it takes a second to get in. Martha has no doubt who it is when she recognizes the fluffy, curly hair bounces as he puts his leg into the window. He looks over to her and smiles, dimples and all, before bumping his other knee against the windowsill. Martha covers her mouth before she can giggle.

He gets in after a second and puts a finger to his lips. _Like I would wake up my father,_ Martha nods. Before long He’s next to her, sitting up with a book on his lap. He cranes his head down to read, squinting to finds words in the dark of her room. A light breeze ruffles in from her open window, his curly hair swaying.

“Moritz?” She whispered, looking at her closed door reflexively. “My father would kill you if he found you here…”

Moritz crinkles his nose and frowns, his eyes still searching the book. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“What else is new?” She giggled. Seeing him frown made something wilt in her stomach, her chest. “Why here?”

“It feels so g-good here in your presence,” He said softly, smiling into his book. He looked at her, his eyes like water on a warm day, “Can you remember how we looked out for each other when we were younger? With arithmetic and scripture?”

“Oh Moritz, how could I forget?” _You were the only one who had ._

“Everything was easier back then,” He says rubbing the back of his neck.

“Everything was,” She says, rubbing her arms and the welts on them. “Or maybe we know better now.”

The ends of his mouth peak up faintly, not yet a grin or a smile but not a frown. He turns away from her and leans back against the wall. The moonlight shines on his eyelashes as he closes them. He looks like a tired angel, falling gracefully from the clouds.

It was harder for both of them to excel in their classes respectively. Martha was with girls like Wendla Bergman and Thea Rilow, girls who she loved like sisters, but girls who knew everything to know about reading and math. Girls who had mothers and fathers who could afford to help them with their homework. Girls whose fathers didn’t take up their time like it was his to own.

Moritz had Melchior Gabor and Hanschen Rilow, who were well known as smart mouths but smart nonetheless. Their teachers had decided to send the kids who were struggling to tutoring after school, where Martha and Moritz formally met. Martha sat next to Moritz on the floor. Moritz looked up and smiled, his hair still looking like he just rolled out of bed.

“Hi, I’m Martha,” Martha said softly, trying to hold herself from blushing. He yawned instead of a greeting.

“Moritz,” He yawned again, his voice as soft as it was now.

As the year went on, Martha and Moritz studied together, bonding over an unspoken solidarity that neither of them could exactly work at home. Those were the days that bruises could be explained with falls.

“I thought,” Moritz’s, soft as ever, breaks through the silence. “You could help me with this latin book I have to read before finals.”

Martha nods. Though she struggled with it herself, getting closer to Moritz wasn’t something she wanted to refuse. She leans over closer to him, finding his smell comforting. She starts to read with him, her voice killing the dead language again as she stumbled over the declensions.

They’re a few chapters in when Moritz hand stroked Martha’s. The contact sends an instinctual feeling in her, memories of being thrown against a wall and of memories of being held on the bed. She looks at Moritz, his eyes gentle.

“Thank you, Martha,” He says softly. He’s nothing like that. This is nothing like that. Martha finds nothing else to say, her throat dry.

He leans in, his hand squeezing her hand softly. “You’re more beautiful than a butterfly in winter,” his breathes out. He leans in, his lips hovering ever lightly over her lips. She closes her eyes, her hand magnetized into his soft hair.

“May I?”

A beat passes between them.

“Yes, please.”

When she opens her eyes, her room is filled with light from the dawn, and most importantly, Moritz’s lips are not on hers. She runs a finger over her lips to see if there’s any sign of him, his warmth, any sign that he was there—that it wasn’t a dream, and that he did come. She sighs and shakes her head. Foolish, foolish girl, Martha thinks.

———

**_Shall I write it in a letter?_ **

**_Shall I try to get it down?_ **

**_Oh, you fill my head with pieces Of a song I can't get out_ **

**_Can I be close to you?_ **

It’s a soft afternoon during the early part of fall when in the field by the Wheelans’ residence Anna says, “Whatever happened with Moritz?”

Martha looks up from her scripture homework, her face feeling hot. Anna is behind her, braiding flowers into Martha’s braids the way Ilse taught them both. Wendla and Thea decided that they would rather try to talk to Melchior Gabor by the riverbank, so it’s just Anna and Martha doing their homework. Or at least Martha was. Anna was much more focused on braiding daisies into Martha’s braids, loose enough that Martha could pick them out when she had to go for supper. She smiles as she feels Anna’s slender fingers graze her neck. She didn’t mind Anna not helping with homework. Martha leans back, intoxicated with her best friend’s presence.

She looks up and Anna smiles widely. “Martha,” Anna giggles, rubbing Martha’s shoulder. “You didn’t answer me about your Stiefel problem.”

Martha sighs, looking down at the bible in her lap. Maybe God has some words I could use to describe him. _Sanctuary. Heavenly. An Angel. Almost Divine._ “I—Have no words.”

“What do you mean, Marthy?”

“It’s,” Martha sighs. “He’s—When he talks to me, I feel—He’s—“

“Safe?”

“Absolutely!” Martha exclaims, placing the bible beside her and turning around to look at Anna. Anna is wide eyed, her expression amused.

“He’s not exactly my type,” Anna laughs, looking down at her hands and the flowers in it. Her face turns solemn. She whispers, “But you already know that I don’t fancy boys.”

Martha smiles and takes Anna hand in her own. “I know,” She says softly.

Anna smiles and nods, “Have you even tried to talk to him about it?”

“I’ve tried to! I just overthink it all,” Martha sighs, her eyes moving to the welts on her forearms. “I’m just afraid that he’s… no better than any other man. What if he has bad intentions?”

Anna takes Martha’s hands, “Moritz doesn’t think like that. He could barely throw a frog out of the classroom window in third grade. That boy hasn’t got a wit to hurt anyone. And if he does,” Anna squeezes her hands, her eyes glossy. “I will personally take it upon my hands to make sure he can never hurt you again.”

Martha finds herself smiling at Anna. Anna doesn’t have an aggressive bone in her body. Martha could only maybe see Thea throwing a punch or two. But then again, Martha never thought anyone would end up liking Melchior Gabor. She was thinking more and more that the part of her that could read people was becoming illiterate.

“Do you recall that one psalm read at Greta Brandenburg’s wedding? First Corinthian 13:4-5?” Martha finds herself saying.

“Yes, we had to memorize it in Sunday school. ‘Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.’”

“‘It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs,’” Martha says softly. “I sometimes wonder if I’ll find that sort of love. ‘Love’ that isn’t selfish. One that doesn’t try to excuse the bruises on my arms.”

Anna frowns and nods. They sit there in silence for a beat before Anna caresses Martha’s cheek. “You’ll never know if Moritz means anything if you don’t write him. At least your feelings.”

Martha nods. She takes a spare piece of parchment she brought and starts to write with the bible as her backing. _Dear Moritz Stiefel, I have no guess if you’ll ever read this but I…_

The letter goes on for a page or so. It discusses everything from her fond memories of them in elementary school, how she feels when he takes the time of day to talk to her now, how she feels when he smiles, and how Martha feels safe when he’s there. It ends with a sentence that can only describe how she feels with the least amount of verbiage.

“Can I be close to you?”

They walk home before dawn, Martha’s chest feels like pure butterflies as she takes the flowers out of her braids. The letter sits heavy in her bag, and it fills her with so much yearning to read it again. Admire her vision on him.

“Martha, can I run something by you?” Anna says.

“I absolutely think that Thea would like some flowers an-,” Martha whispers to her, giggling.

“Oh, hush,” Anna laughs. “I wanted to know if you actually wanted to send the letter? I live around him, it’s on my way home.”

Martha stops walking. She places a hand on her bag. “It would be nice for him to know...” She whispers to herself more than anything. It would be lovely for him to look at her and know, and maybe even reciprocate. “But what if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Anna shakes her head, smiling slightly. “You must be kidding? Moritz is so sweet with you, a lot more than to you than any of us. I heard that Thea asked him at the market last week if he could help her with carrying food to her home and he shook his head, mumbled something, and ran off.”

Martha’s chest fills with warmth and energy thinking how he smiles at her at mass.

“Fine,” she sighs, and digs the letter out of her bag. She looks at Anna, and Anna swipes it quickly. “Drop this off at his home and do it quick before I change my mind.”

Anna smiles wide and hugs Martha.

“I love you, Marthy,” she whispers into Martha’s shoulder. “I hope Moritz is better than you imagined. You deserve that.”

Martha watches, in anxiety, as Anna skips off to the Stiefel residence. Martha turns on her heels and walks in the waning evening light, her fingers instinctively touching the welts under her sleeves.

———

**_Can I be close to you?_ **

He’s bent over Melchior Gabor’s desk, a bowl of cold soup, a cup of water and the “Aeneid” in front of him, when there’s a tap at his window. He opens his eyes a little bit more, rubbing the nooks out of his neck. Frau Gabor had warned him that doing work like that would mess with his posture, but the Stiefel’s seemed to have a genetic disposition for mistakes. Moritz’s father had reasoned that for him.

“Was that a bird, Melchi?” Moritz says to his friend on his bed.

“No, I believe it is a girl,” Melchior says, his voice flat. “I think it is one of Wendla’s friends. The Wheelan girl.”

Moritz sighs and gets out of his seat. He walks over to the window, and there Moritz can see her. Anna was never much of an athlete, but her face is particularly red and her hair sticking.

She frowns and taps on it more. Moritz nods, his arms feeling weak as he pulls the window up. He winces as the fall wind hits his face hard.

“Holy Matrimony! That took you two eons to open this damn window,” Anna bellows.

Moritz rubs his face and looks at Melchior.

Melchi shrugs, “What’s this about? Do you need to come in, Marianna?”

She shakes her head aggressively, pulling a letter from her cardigan’s pocket. She presents it to Moritz. He takes it and turns it over, “To Moritz Stiefel” it reads on the front. He looks up and Anna takes a second to catch her breath.

“Sorry, it’s all rumpled and… stained. I was originally going to give it to you at your house, but your Father told me you hadn’t come home yet and to get lost. So, I went to Georg Zirschnitz, since I knew where he lives and he was about a fifteen minute run away from our street. He told me that you would be at the Gabor’s—studying or sleeping, he said—and I knew that Melchior lives by Wendla, on her street in fact. So it starts to sprinkle as I run a half an hour to Wendla’s, to ask where Melchior lives, but y’know—“

“She’s helping with the church right now.” Melchior says that word with disgust. Moritz blinks at him and shakes his head.

“Do you mind speeding this up?” Moritz sighs, offering his best attempt at a smile. “I need to finish up the ‘Aeneid’ before I have to leave.”

Anna giggles and nods. “Right, So, basically, I start to go window to window asking for Melchi and about twenty minutes in I see Frau Gabor watering some petunias and here I am! At your window!”

Moritz nods, “Is that all?” Anna thinks it over and nods. She pulls the cardigan closer to herself, and pats Moritz’s hand,

“Just read the letter, Moritz.” Moritz nods, _Why Not?_ “Good night, Melchior!” She yells across her shoulder as she leaves in the autumn night.

Moritz turns it around in his hands, uneasiness settling over him like a wave. A letter addressed to him means nothing good; a report card, a poorly informed letter from a relative remembering a ‘gifted’ nephew, or a refusal of a retake.

“She brought a letter?” Melchior laughs. Moritz turns and shrugs. He walks over and sits on the bed. Melchior cocks an eyebrow

“I suppose,” Moritz whispers to himself. He hands the letter to Melchior. “Why would Marianna Wheelan give m-me a letter?”

Melchior smirks and nudges Moritz shoulder. “It looks like little Anna Wheelan fancies you,” Melchior muses, shrugging his shoulders. “Which surprises me, I always thought she was tangled up with Otto Lammermeier.”

Moritz burrows his eyebrows. “I thought she didn’t like him. At all. Besides, Weren’t you the one who told me that she liked women?”

“Same difference,” Melchior rolls his eyes and smirks wider. He throws the letter at Moritz. “But that’s besides the point; Open it!”

Moritz traces his fingers over the seal of the envelope. “I’m not sure I want to, Melchi,” He sighs, laying down next to his best friend.

“Why?” Melchior lays his faust down.

“You know, girls scare me sometimes. Thea and that group especially!”

Melchior scoffs. “Even Martha Bessel? Martha Bessel scares you?” Moritz rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing to be scared of girls! They’re the delicater of the sexes don’t you know!”

“I hardly think that after seeing Thea punch Hans last summer,” Moritz grimaces remembering the bruise on Hanschen Rilow’s cheekbone. “And besides they always play jokes on me. What if this is just another one?”

“You never know until you find out, Mo,” Melchior sighs. “And what could it hurt, it’s just a letter. Read it at home if you have to, just finish up that ‘Aeneid’ translation.”

_We’ll see if this is just a letter_ , Moritz thinks as he gets off of the bed.

It’s an hour later when he leaves. It’s dark now, and bitter wind bites his face as he walks home. The letter is still in hand, unopened.

_Who would want to write him a letter? What girl would want to write him a letter?_ Moritz sighs, his breath coming out in white clouds against the cold of the night. He loosens up the tie around his neck.

Girls weren’t supposed to like him. He was no “handsome radical” like Melchior, and he was fine with living in the shadow of his best friend. He didn’t need any girl’s attention. He pulls his jacket closer to him and pulls a scarf out of his jacket pocket. Moritz was constantly cold it felt like.

Maybe it would be nice to be close to someone. He shivered again.

There isn’t any girl, an exception of one, he can actually think would actually be nice to be close to. All of the girls he knew were scary, and in the fact that they all made his stomach on fire and owned his dreams. But the scarier part was that when he did see them they snickered and had a fake smile. Living with his father, he knew exactly when someone was playing nice. One moment his father was congratulating Moritz on a passing grade and then ridiculing him the next for the exact same grade. But the congratulations was nice enough that he did it again, believed it again.

Though, there was an exception. Moritz smiles smally as he takes a turn on his street. Martha was kind and warm. Like most of the girls, she was nice in elementary, but she never outgrew it. Martha was still sweet now, despite all of the rumors he heard. Melchior said a few months ago that she was beat and touched by her father, which made Moritz stomach crawl. He wasn’t nearly as close to her as they use to, but something was still there. Moritz still had the finger paintings and flower crowns, even if the latter was dried and crumbling in his drawer.

Not that he would ever admit to any of his friends to father. 

Moritz tiptoes into his house, making sure not to bump into anything and wake his father. No, that wouldn’t get him into the right mind when he finally reads the letter.

He climbs up the stairs to his room, and with precision he steps over the clothes and scraps of paper to his bed. Moritz lights the lamp next to his bedside and lies down on the unmade bed. He winces as he hears a muffled crunch of paper. Old translations and essays that were too bad. The letter looks threatening with glow of the lamp. Now or never, he reminds himself and tears the envelope apart. A paper falls on his lap, and hid hands shake when he picks up one.

His eyes close slowly. Moritz’s breathing comes out in shuddery intakes and outs. _It’s just a letter_ , he reminds herself again.

There’s no need to panic. Just a letter.

_“Dear Moritz Stiefel,_

_I have no guess if you’ll ever read this but something has been gnawing on my subconscious for the past year or so. It’s simply that I constantly think of you, and not only memories of our youth. Some of the images that are on my mind such as; your smile when your dear friend Melchior makes a joke, the way your hair flounces when you do your gymnastics, your mouth when you say ‘hello’ to me on Sunday. These stills of you almost haunt me like a ghost, a friendly one at that._

_Nevertheless, the memories of you and I a few years ago are the fondest I might have. You might remember that We use to play tag in the fields by the river with the other kids after school. And when everyone left, even your dear Melchior and Ilse, there you and I sat._

_You use to pick out the prettiest daisies and then I would braid them into your hair, which was rather longer back then, and then you would giggle occasionally. It was a wordless practice, if you can remember, but I use to think about how soft your hair was in my fingers. Back then, maybe even now, I only felt that sort of softness with the presence of a girl. I thought it was a purely feminine attribute, but there you were, having it! I do not want you to think, however, that I only find you attractive comparable to a girl, I just never found that in boys before and it was refreshing as a cup of water in the summer heat. You seem sedated sometimes, in a dreamlike place of your own, and it’s so much different than the wide eyed alertness that Melchior or Hanschen has. I prefer your calm to their energy anyday. Sometimes, I think about what it’s like to just stay in your presence and maybe feel the same dream._

_In short, I miss spending time with you and I yearn for more. Simply put, Can I be close to you?_

_Sincerely, Martha Bessel.”_

Rain falls hard outside and there’s a striking resemblance to what Moritz’s chest feels like. His nerves feel frayed, as he reads the last phrase over and over again. Possibly this is what it feels like to be struck by lightning? It definitely feels similar when he has dreams about girls and boys.

There’s so many meanings to that phrase that if maybe Moritz was Melchior or a linguist or whatever, he would entertain the idea that maybe she means something completely different than the physical. But the gnawing yearning for warmth eats any of that away. Yearning to have someone to talk to.

Moritz grabs a piece of parchment from his desk and uses his copy of the Aeneid and gets to work on a reply. ‘ _Dear Martha, I read your letter. Maybe you would like to meet me in those same fields from when we were younger. If so, this Saturday at dawn, I’ll be waiting in the lilies. Yours, Moritz._ ’

There’s just one more thing, he thinks. He gets up, and as quietly as possible digs through the paper in her desk’s drawer and finds the finishing touch. He attaches it in the folded letter. It’s early and foggy the next morning when he gives the letter to Anna.

“Give this to Martha,” Moritz says biting his lip. “Please”

———

**_Can I take it to a morning_ **

**_Where the fields are painted gold_ **

**_And the trees are filled with memories_ **

**_Of the feelings never told?_ **

“Moritz?”

He’s laying in the lillies, dozing off, when he hears her soft voice. He shoots up, nervously running his hand through his hair. She stands there, her hair in braids and her green dress loosely tied with a belt on her waist.

“H-Hi—Hello!” Moritz somehow finds the words. He pats the dew and grass off of his shoulders. Martha smiles and it’s like salvation to Moritz. Like a passing grade.

“I’m so glad you’re actually here,” She says as she sits down in front of him. “I was coming from the path here and with you being so tall I was sure I could spot you! And then I looked harder and then I saw someone laying in the field, and I thought it might be Melchior. Wendla says he likes to lay around in nature.”

“Oh, I-I’m so, so sorry,” Moritz sputters out. He should’ve knew better than to lay back, but the ground looked so soft and he barely slept the night before. She takes a breath like she’s about to say something, her warm, brown eyes roaming Moritz’s face. He tries to casually rub his hand against the side of his face, because maybe she’s staring at some mud or dirt, but he’s stopped when she finally says something.

“I’m glad it’s you here though.”

Moritz breath hitches in his throat at the surprising statement, causing him to cough uncontrollably. Martha eyes widen and she scoots closer, her knees against his now, and lays a hand on his shoulder. He coughs harder at the contact.

“Are you okay, Moritz?” He can hear her say. Moritz tries his best to nod and swallows hard.

“I-I’m fine,” He stutters, breathing deep. She grimaces, and it feels worse than choking to him, but she smiles and nods her head around.

“It’s so beautiful out here in the morning. I was so happy you asked for this time of day.”

Moritz nods, looking around. “It’s been forever since I’ve been around here. Usually, the boys are down by the river or on mainstreet.”

The field is a relatively small one, surrounded by forest. There is an occasional bunch of trees but it is mostly flat with just tall grass and bunches of flowers. The sky is pink and purple against the oranges and reds of the fall trees. The field is not as populated with flowers like it usually is when they use to meet in the spring.

“It’s still as beautiful as I remember though.”

“That’s a shame.”

“What do you mean?”

“That boys aren’t going to fields like these. Matter in fact, that boys aren’t expected to seek beauty like flowers.” Martha says, her finger lightly tracing a daisy.

“I suppose,” Moritz says. “That’s because flowers and admiring beauty, is a girl’s thing. Or that’s at least what adults make it out to be.”

Martha frowns and shakes her head. “That’s a pity, since there are so many things to learn from nature,” She points to a dandelion. “Take this flower. It’s considered a weed, an undesirable, but it persists and grows tall. I hope to raise my children like that. I hope they grow like a field of daisies and lilies like this, instead of a garden that is manicured in a way that stops nature’s course.”

“I completely agree!” Moritz exclaims. “I would like to raise my boys and girls the same. They would sleep in the same room, same bed—wear the same clothes, or not wear clothes at all!”

Martha laughs, and it makes Moritz chest explode with flutters. It’s so loud, and it rings happily in his ears. “So, your child is running around naked in the marketplace and you would simply let it happen?”

Moritz finds himself grinning, “If that’s what he wants.”

“Interesting,” Martha smiles back. She looks at the daisies again and her face falls.

“Wh-What’s wrong?” Moritz feels his stomach turn to knots. It feels criminal to see Martha gloomy.

“It’s nothing, just,” She looks up and leans ever slightly. “I just remember when we were kids. I used to think things were easier back then.”

“‘Used to?’” Moritz coxes his head. He would gladly take playing pirates with Ilse and the bunch than being swamped with Virgil.

“I think things have always been hard,” She rubs her arms. “I just think as kids we had no shame, so we did anything. I can’t—I can’t exactly say I do the same today.”

Moritz searches for words, something that won’t make her feel worse that he’s heard about her father. He finds himself picking lillies and daisies that are the longest and most vibrant, the way he did when he was younger.

He clears his throat, “Who’s to say we can’t start now, today?”

Martha stares at the flowers in his hands, her eyes open slightly more.

“I mean, you don’t ha-” Moritz says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Martha scoffs and shakes her head, “Turn around, please.”

Moritz immediately does as he’s told, his heart beating out of his chest. He can’t remember the last time a girl, anyone is he was honest, genuinely touched him. His mother was never the affectionate type, and heaven knew that the girls ran at the sight of him.

It feels like bliss when Martha runs her hands through his hair, slowly go up to get through the knots like they used to do. Her hands are slender and warm against his scalp. Moritz wants to remain strong and not lean into her touch, because if he did that he’s sure that Martha would know that he desperately wanted her, but he leans in without much choice. It felt like a pull, such as gravity, to be close to Martha.

It agitates his head for a minute or so as Martha pulls apart his hair to braid the flowers with, but the next he’s calming. He closes his eyes, basking in the morning sun, Martha’s face is the only thing behind his eyelids.

It’s silent for several minutes before Martha caresses his ear. A rapid sensation goes through his bloodstream, shocking his eyes open. He looks up at her, all of the air leaving him as she beams down at him. Her dark skin simply gleams from the sun, like the way a gloss does on a piece of refurbished art.

“Hey, sleepy,” Martha muses. “Can you lay your head in my lap?” Moritz sits there, words a million miles away. Just say something! He curses himself. Martha bites her lip before saying quickly, “It’s just that it’s hard to braid the top of your head because you’re so tall and everything…”

“Oh! Of course, absolutely!” Moritz stutters out. He kicks out his legs and scoots to lay down. He can feel the fabric of her skirt on his neck, and it leaves a trail of goosebumps all over. Martha giggles. She starts to braid in another daisy.

“You’re hair is so soft!” She says brightly. In this position, he can see her face.

He can’t get over how the sun radiates off of her skin. The way her eyes squint to concentrate and how she smiles with her whole face. He notices now the passion in her brown eyes, the intensity behind them. Moritz’s memories of her were characterized as soft. Non-threatening. And she was still like that, but now there was more of an adult in her. He supposes that he probably looks more “adult”. He’s definitely a lot taller.

Moritz reckons that what’s he doing is stalking, and he’s about to look away but then Martha finishes up the daisy in his hair and her head backs away, admiring it. She smiles, biting her lip and nodding. He can’t help but grin.

“What?” Martha giggles, her eyes casting downwards.

“I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I think—I think I fancy you.” Martha mouth opens, her eyebrows crossed, as if she’s to question it.

“And it’s not just that,” Moritz says quickly, not wanting to lose her. He scratches his cheek, trying hard not to look away. “I think—I know I’ve always fancied you.”

“ _Oh_ , Moritz.”

All he can seem to focus on is Martha’s lips, specifically the gap between them.

“C-Can you kiss me?” He finds himself saying. “I would kiss you but—“

Her lips meet his, briefly, and it’s like a symphony of feelings.

Martha’s lips are soft, and once she moves away he wants more. _So much more._ He never wanted anything more in his whole life. More than a passing grade.

A beat passes between them. He closes his eyes, her hands caressing his face.

————

_**When the evening pulls the sun down** _

_**And the day is almost through** _

_**Oh, the whole world it is sleeping** _

_**But my world is you** _

She lies there beside him, underneath the darkening sky. Her hands feel sore under her head, from all of the braiding she did. A light drizzle begins on them both.

“Thank you,” Martha whispers as she begins to get up. She leans over and kisses his cheek, Moritz raises an eyebrow. “But it’s raining and I should go. My father is probably wondering where I am.”

He shoots up at that, little daisies fall from his head. He shakes his head, “Please,” his voice cracks. He lays a gentle hand on hers. “Pl-Please stay.” Moritz takes off jacket, and holds it up to her. “I can cover you with this from the rain… You don’t have to! I just really wouldn’t mind if you stayed and I don’t really want to go home either.”

She sighs and bites her lip. Her father would be furious if she got home late. Probably throw her against the wall. If he had a few drinks, he’d throw a vase at the wall and her. The fact, although, was that Moritz was there next to her.

Martha takes the jacket, and kisses Moritz. She rather make Moritz happier than to give her father the satisfaction of coming home. He lays out his arm, and Martha finds that her head seems to fit perfectly in the crook of his arm and shoulder. She covers the both of them, closing her eyes.

“I’ve dreamt of this, you know?” He says softly.

“Of what?”

“Of you.” Moritz pulls her closer, and Martha feels simply melted. Thea once said that Moritz kept melted chocolate bars in the back pockets of his trousers, and it’s no wonder to Martha now. Martha was the something radiant.

“Of holding you like this,” he croons. “Of maybe dreaming next to you.”

“The night is young, Moritz. I don’t need anything more than spending the night, god help me, maybe even the rest of Autumn, with you.”

The rain is a hardly a sprinkle. Martha closes her eyes, not afraid of the dark, breathing in him and the fall air.

————

_**Can I be close to you?** _

They laid in the middle of their field, stealing a moment of time for themselves.

She indulged herself by letting his fingers delicately twist the braid at her hair undone.

He braved each moment as her breath hits softly against his shoulder, trying with all his self to pretend that this came easily for him.

Their homes far away, the morning hardly a concept in their minds.

They fell asleep around midnight after hours of trying. Their dreams are of eachother, remembering every kiss, every dandelion, every drop of rain against the others face.

Remembering, remembering, remembering...

**Author's Note:**

> hey loves! thank u sm for reading this. u can find me on tumblr @justgrlz <3


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